#misctf

The bass thumped heavily, shaking the very walls of the frat house as AJ stumbled through the crowd. Sweat glistened on his exposed chest, his cowboy hat tilted jauntily on his head. His "sexy cowboy" costume left little to the imagination - tight jeans molding to his muscular thighs, tank top showing off his toned arms.

A group of giggling sorority girls caught sight of him and squealed appreciatively. "AJ! Your costume is so hot!" one called out.

He flashed them a cocky grin, striking a pose. "Why thank ya darlin'. Y'all like?" He said with his best take on a southern accent.

With a flirtatious wink, clearly reveling in the attention, he went back to taking shots with his frat bros. And as the night wore on in a haze of alcohol, AJ found himself making the most of it- making out, grinding, groping- you name it. By the time the party wound down, he had lost track of how many drinks he'd downed and who all he'd hooked up with. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto his bed and drifted to sleep.

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The harsh glare of sunlight streaming through the blinds and stirred AJ awake. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. His mouth felt dry and his head pounded mercilessly.

"Agh… fuck…" he croaked, voice hoarse from the previous night's activities. Slowly, fragments of the Halloween party came trickling back - the pulsing music, the sea of costumes, the endless flow of booze, the hot girls.

With great effort, AJ sat up, a lazy grin plastered on his face. If he was this hungover, he must've had a good time. He yawned and glanced over to the mirror, chuckling slightly when he saw his cowboy hat was still firmly planted to his head.

"Don't really need this anymore." He smiled and grasped at the hat on his head.

He intended to take it off, but his fingers met resistance - the hat wouldn't budge an inch. Confused, he tried again, gripping harder. Still nothing. A flicker of unease ran through him.

"What the hell…" he muttered, examining the hat more closely. That's when he noticed something strange - his hands looked different somehow. Rougher, more weathered. And were those hairs sprouting from his knuckles?

AJ stared at them in shock. They couldn't be his hands. These were the hands of a much older man, a laborer perhaps. Calloused and covered in dark hair.

"No no no," he started to panic, looking down at his body. To his horror, he watched as the changes crept up his arms.

Hair sprouting thickly along his growing forearms as his skin darkened and roughened. Muscles bulged beneath the surface, swelling his biceps and triceps with thick, corded muscle. Muscle he could only dream of acquiring naturally in the gym.

"Oh god oh fuck what's happening to me?!" AJ cried out, voice cracking with fear and confusion.

He scrambled off the bed, stumbling as he felt the changes affecting his legs too. Thighs and calves thickened and hardened, muscles rippling powerfully. Dark hair fuzzed over his skin.

"Hnnngh!" AJ grunted, doubling over as he felt a sudden surge between his legs.

A jolt of intense pleasure shot through AJ as he felt his most private area begin to change. His cock swelled and lengthened, growing thicker and heavier by the second. His balls churned and tightened, already filled to the brim with potent seed.

"Holy shit, holy shit!" he panted, his terror nearly eclipsed by his growing arousal.

But there was no time to dwell on that as he felt his chest begin to morph. Two large, thick slabs of muscle formed where his previously toned pecs had been. Dark hair sprouted across the surface as they grew and grew, heaving with each breath.

"No, no, this ain't right," AJ whimpered, a Southern drawl creeping into his voice despite himself.

He shuddered in revulsion and let out a silent scream as he felt his back broadening, muscles rippling beneath the skin. He scratched desperately at his back as coarse hair began to push through, covering his skin in thick patches.

"Oh god, what in the hell?" AJ gagged, catching a strong whiff of musk emanating from his changing body. He reeked of raw masculinity and virility, "This ain't me, I ain't s'posed to look like this!"

He went to grab his phone- to call for help, but froze. AJ let out a strangled moan as he felt his rock hard abs soften and thicken with a layer of firm, masculine fat. At the same time, his core muscles clenched and strengthened, turning his midsection into a solid wall of power.

"Oh god no no no..." He could feel his face rippling, shifting.

Stubble scraped against his palms as he frantically rubbed his cheeks, watching in the mirror as his features coarsened and became more ruggedly handsome. A beard darkened his jawline and chin. Eyes darkening, skin becoming more weathered. He spun to face the door when he heard a knock followed by his friend's concerned voice.

"Hey man, you alright in there?"

"I-I'm fine!" AJ called back, voice deeper than usual, "Jus' leave me alone!"

"You sure, bro?"

He went to respond, but was stopped as a searing need ignited deep in his core, settling in his ass. AJ felt his hole clench around nothing, craving to be stretched and filled. The urge to submit, to be taken roughly and used.

"Nnngh fuck," he groaned, back arching.

His cock throbbed almost painfully. In his mind's eye, he saw himself bent over, presenting his hairy ass to some faceless man, begging to be bred like the desperate slut he suddenly craved to be. AJ trembled, torn between confusion and overwhelming lust. He didn't understand these foreign urges, this burning need to be dominated and used.

"Y-y'all just go 'way!" Did he really mean that? "I'm fine, jus' a lil' under the weather is all." His voice betrayed his desperation, words slurring together, the Southern drawl thickening.

And when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw what he was now. He was a vision of raw, masculine sexuality - all bulging muscles, dark hair, and throbbing arousal. The perfect image of a horny, slutty cowboy. The realization crashed over AJ as he stood there frozen, staring at his reflection in dawning horror. Gone was the handsome, athletic frame of the cocky college jock. In its place was this - this… figure of pure, unadulterated lust and virility. Everywhere he looked, he saw the physical embodiment of his "sexy cowboy" costume come to twisted life.

"It ain't… it cain't be…" he whimpered, running shaking hands over the thick expanse of his hairy chest, pawing at the heavy bulge straining against his pants. His identity, his very sense of self seemed to be slipping away, drowning under waves of foreign desire and instinct, "No, no please, I don't wanna be this!" Tears of frustration and terror welled in his eyes.

Memories of his old life flashed through his mind - football games, parties, hookups, his easy confidence and charm. But with each passing second, those recollections faded, replaced by an all-consuming need to serve and please. A simple minded slut.

"Ain't nothin' but a slutty lil' cowboy now," AJ slurred, his eyes dimming, his jaw going slack.

Suddenly, the door burst open. AJ's friends rushed in, concern etched on their faces. But when they laid eyes on him, their expressions shifted to shock and awe.

"Holy shit, AJ! What happened to you, man?"

AJ turned to face them, a dopey grin spreading across his face. All traces of the person he once was vanished, replaced by a vacant, eager-to-please desperation.

"Howdy boys," he drawled, "Looks like this here cowboy's ready for ridin'. Any of y'all feel like bein' my first rider?" He grinned as he presented his thick, muscular ass.

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind- Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

My favorite stories of yours are the ones where some poor guy is in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up becoming a cocky bastard (Gridirion Brew, Make Sense, Gone Fishing).

So how about a story about a needy twink looking for a cocky, dominant top… and a poor, recently engaged guy — studious, respectfull, devoted to his beautiful fiancée, — who crosses paths with the wrong person at the wrong time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy,” Adam slowly shut the door to his best man's room. “Drink some water before you pass out this time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” somebody groaned from inside. “You’re about to be someone’s husband and still sound like my mom.”

Adam shook his head, smiling as he headed toward the elevators. His bachelor party had turned into exactly what he expected: too much drinking, too much yelling, and the people he loved most acting like complete idiots together... He’d loved every second of it.

“Wouldn’t trade those idiots for anything,” Adam muttered as he stepped into the elevator, scrolling through reels Claire had sent him.

The doors had barely started closing before hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Wait! Hold it!”

“Got you.” Adam stuck his arm out automatically.

“Oh, thank god,” the stranger breathed, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw Adam. “You seriously just saved my evening. I was starting to think I’d have to go upstairs alone.”

Adam laughed awkwardly, “I think you might’ve misunderstood something, I’m not looking for…”

“Shhhhh.” The guy stepped closer. “That’s okay. You’re gonna make me feel really fucking good tonight, stud.”

Adam blinked. “What?”

“Name's Nico,” he said lazily. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Before Adam could answer, Nico leaned forward and kissed him. Adam's hands came up to shove him away, but he froze.

“I… sorry, I think you got the wrong...”

Then Adam looked at him again, words catching in his throat. His eyes dropped to Nico’s ass in those tight black jeans.

"You like?"

“Oh...” Adam swallowed hard. “No, I... I shouldn’t…” His thoughts raced. “I’m not into guys. I’m getting married…”

“Mhm.” Nico stepped closer again. “Go ahead, baby.”

“Oh fuck…” Adam panted suddenly as his hand grabbed a fistful of Nico’s ass.

Nico smiled instantly. “There you go.”

Nico's hands slipped beneath Adam’s shirt, cool palms dragging over his stomach and chest before squeezing a growing pec. Adam’s breath caught instantly, the kiss turning rougher before he even realized it.

“Mmm… fuck,” Nico sighed against his mouth.

Adam groaned, fingers kneading the firm curve of Nico’s ass, while rough stubble grew along his jaw with every slow squeeze.

“You’re really into this now.”

“No… Nico, I can’t…” Adam broke away, face flushed, hands still on Nico's ass. “Jesus Christ… I’m getting married…”

“Shhhh.” Nico smirked, sliding his hands up Adam's shirt and through the hair spreading across his chest, “Oh my god,” Nico breathed. “You feel so fucking good already.”

“Fuck…” Adam gripped his ass harder as nails scratched down his back. “I need dis…” The words hit his ears wrong. “No… what de hell...?”

"Follow me, big guy."

And he did. The second the elevator doors opened, Adam followed. Right to Nico's room. The guilt twisted hard through his stomach.

“Claire...” Adam shuddered. “Can never know... about dis… fuck… she can’t…”

"Oh she never will." Nico giggled and pulled Adam into his hotel room.

Clothes were quickly discarded and Adam groaned as Nico's smooth bare skin pressed against his increasingly bulkier, hairier, and sweatier form.

“Fuck…” Nico’s hands slid over the thickening muscle in Adam’s arms, “I needed a man like you tonight.” He buried his face against Adam’s increasingly hairier pit and inhaled. “Mmm… you smell incredible.”

With a grunt, he shoved Nico against a wall, hand wrapping around his bare ass. Warm skin flexed beneath his palm, impossibly soft without the denim in the way... smooth, firm, and perfect in a way Adam had never thought about another man's ass before.

“Oh fuck…” Adam groaned shakily against Nico’s throat. “Ya Allah… you're drivin' me crazy…”

Nico smiled lazily while grinding up against him. “Mmm. Been thinking about you fucking me since the elevator…”

The words hit Adam hard and Claire’s face flashed through his mind again... Unaware her fiancé was naked in a hotel room with another man. The guilt swelled, but Adam still shoved Nico onto the mattress.

“Yeah…” Adam breathed heavily. “You... like dis? You want dis?" Adam climbed over him, their eyes locking as dark brown rings spread slowly through Adam’s blue irises.

“Fuck…” Nico's hands slid across Adam’s sweaty, hairier pecs, “That’s it… come here, big guy…”

Nico shifted and rolled onto his front, raising his bare ass against Adam's throbbing cock. Adam’s breathing turned ragged, stomach twisting hard. He wasn't this kind of man... He was Claire's dependable fiancé. Her best friend. Her future husband... Not the man currently grinding his cheating cock against another man’s ass.

“Fuck…” Adam tightened his grip on Nico’s hips. “Dis isn’t me… 'uqsim, hadha lays 'ana." Adam froze... that language... he didn't...

"Huh? Wh... fuck... Wh-what did you say?" Nico smirked and looked over his shoulder, "Oh fuck..."

Adam felt it before he saw it. His cock throbbed and grew to a size beyond anything Adam ever possessed. His cock head emerging from a sheath of foreskin he knew shouldn't be there.

"Dere is no way..." He whispered, "It's so..." He moaned as he grew another inch, cock now pressing against Nico's tight entrance.

"Please... I need it." Nico begged, "It's all I need tonight."

Adam gasped suddenly as his pecs filled with muscle. And as they did, his new chest hairs suddenly curled longer and darkened toward black against his heavier muscle.

“Fuck…” Claire used to fall asleep with her head against his lean chest. But these heavier pecs were damp with sweat and dark curling hair now, nothing like the body she loved. “Ya Allah… look at dis… it just keeps gettin’ thicker…”

“Mmm…” Nico moaned, glancing back at him.

“Oh fuck… what’s dat smell?” Adam grimaced.

“That's… you big guy."

“Mustaheel…” Adam muttered, lifting an arm and grimacing at the thick musk clinging to his sweat-soaked, matted pit hair, “Y-you like dis…?”

"Fuck… yeah. Smell like a real man… mmm, so fucking hot…" Nico whimpered.

Adam shuddered hard at the words. Claire used to steal his hoodies because they smelled clean and comforting. She would’ve recoiled from this heavy masculine musk pouring off him now.

"You're perfect..." Nico groaned, pressing his ass against Adam's erection, "Just... fuck me already."

“Wallah…” Adam nearly obliged, but Claire’s smile flashed suddenly through his mind, "What de fuck is wrong wit me?”

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, catching on something unfamiliar along his cheek. He touched his jaw again instinctively and recoiled. Stubble. Thick, perfect stubble. He'd always joke about never being able to grow a real beard. Claire always told him she loved his clean-shaven look.

"How de fuck....?" He watched as dark hair thickened across swelling forearms and olive blotches crept slowly over pale skin, "Wallah?"

The mirror caught him briefly and he froze. Damp blond hair darkened toward black while brown swallowed the blue in his eyes. Those eyes Claire adored. The hair she loved threading through her fingers.

"I... I want you inside me..." Nico moaned, "J-just..."

Adam looked down and back to the mirror. The man staring back at him still carried traces of Adam in places, but not enough. Not enough for his friends or best man to recognize him. Barely enough for Claire. Even his own mother would hesitate… And panic rose in his chest. He just wanted to go back downstairs, back to his friends, back to the man Claire loved, back to being Adam again. Because right now, Adam didn’t feel like Adam anymore.

He grunted suddenly before he could even process that thought. His cock leaked as a low groan vibrated deep through his chest before he could stop it.

“Ya Allah…” His rough hands spread Nico’s ass cheeks. “You’re gonna take all dis for me, yeah?” The words hadn’t felt chosen. Neither had the smug grin slowly pulling across his face while his heavier body settled more naturally over Nico.

“Mmm… there you are...” Nico whispered softly, sounding relieved.

He couldn't hold back any longer. With a guttural growl, he buried his cock deep into Nico's ass. The twink let out a choked cry, back arching sharply as he was impaled.

Thrust.

Dense muscle any gym bro would be proud of settled over him in all the right places. Stronger hands pinned Nico down instinctively while his pace roughened.

“Fuck… ya Allah…” He stared down at himself breathlessly. “Bro… look at dese… fuck… Havin’ a body like dis feels so fuckin' good…”

“Mmm… trust me...” Nico whimpered. “Feels even better underneath you.”

Thrust.

Warm olive swallowed the last pale traces across his skin while heavy musk and cheap cologne clung permanently to his body.

“Mmm… such a slut... for my scent.” He grunted.

“Fuck…” Nico whimpered. “I wanna bury my face in your pits so bad…”

Thrust.

The last traces of his old facial features disappeared forever behind the thick beard, dark brown eyes, and a permanent cocky grin devoid of his usual warmth.

“Mmm… dat’s right,” He smirked when Nico stared up at him breathlessly. “Keep lookin’ at me like dat while I fuck you…”

Thrust.

“Wh-what’s your name, big guy…?”

“Kareem,” he answered immediately.

“Mhmm… that name...is... always popular…”

“Den scream it for me."

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Kareem slapped Nico's jiggling ass, “Mmm… dat’s right, habibi… take it,” he groaned smugly, "Fuck... Dis hole was... made for my... fat Arab cock... wasn't it?"

Thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust...

Kareem grunted, pace quickening. The engagement ring felt uncomfortable around his swollen finger, so he instinctively pulled it off and tossed it somewhere in the room.

“Mmm… fuckin' slut…” Kareem groaned, "Ya Allah… look at dis… all dis fuckin’ muscle… you fuckin' love it.” He slowed down, "You want me to finish?" He teased, "Want Kareem to fill you?"

"Pl-please..." Nico moaned into the mattress, "Kareem... oh fuck!"

"Ya Allah… you needed dis dick so bad.” Hands squeezing Nico’s hip harder. “Slut gets one real Arab guy smellin’ like dis on top of him and forgets his own name…”

"Kareem!" Nico moaned, "Kar... Kareem... oh fuck... please..."

Kareem buried himself deep inside Nico's ass, followed by a guttural roar as his cock erupted, flooding Nico's insides with thick, hot seed. 

"Take it all, bitch... fuckin' take it!" he growled, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

As the last pulses subsided, Kareem collapsed forward, his sweaty chest pressing against Nico. His softening cock still inside Nico. And Kareem's eyes closed.

-------------------

He woke slowly beneath tangled sheets, groaning as dense muscle shifted across his chest and arms. He scratched at the dark hair on his chest, his nose twitching at the scent of sweat, cologne... of him. For a few moments, he stared at his body, processing the sight.

“Ya Allah…” Kareem smirked to himself, “Dat twink ain’t ever recoverin’ from me…”

“Oh, you’re awake.” Nico glanced up from his phone. “Yeah... you're one of my best works yet...”

“What da fuck does dat mean?”

“Nothing.” Nico shrugged casually. “Anyway, you should leave... like now.” The words landed and the larger man froze.

Kareem blinked, sitting up slowly. “W-wait…” Uncertainty cracked faintly through the swagger for the first time. “Where do I go? What should I...?”

“Always the same questions.” Nico smirked, unable to recall the number of times he'd heard them, “I dunno. There’s a gym down the street? Download Grindr? Yeah... You’re hot. Someone’ll take you in.”

“Dat’s it?”

“I don’t really care.”

------------

Kareem stared in the mirror of a public restroom, wresting with the sense that he was supposed to be somewhere else doing something important. But without a phone, wallet, or anything else, he was lost.

But then he caught him. Some twink washing his hands, staring at him. And Kareem knew that look. The lust... A cocky grin spread across Kareem’s face.

“Mmm… you keep lookin’ at me like dat, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’.”

The guy flushed immediately. “S-sorry, I just…”

Kareem smiled lazily. Cute. Nervous. Kareem would have him wrapped around his finger easily.

He spots her across the living room before anyone else really registers she’s arrived. New face, effortless confidence—his kind of challenge. He takes a second, smooths his shirt, then crosses the room like he already knows how this ends.

“Hey,” he says, easy smile, leaning just enough to feel close without crowding. “You look like you’re deciding whether this party’s worth staying at.”

She glances at him, amused but unreadable.

“I was,” she says. “Still am.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Give me five minutes. I’ll make it worth it.”

She tilts her head. “You always open like that?”

“Only when I’m right.”

“Confident.”

“Usually rewarded for it.”

“Usually,” she echoes.

He grins, holding eye contact. “Stick around. You’ll see.”

She doesn’t answer. Just watches him, an amused smirk forming on her face. Jake returns the smirk- god she was hot. He couldn't wait to make her...

“Not my type.”

That actually lands. Jake blinks, thrown off, but only for a second. His smile returns quick, “Alright, maybe I started off wrong. Name’s Jake.”

“Lena.”

“So what is your type?”

Her eyes travel over him, slower this time. “Bulky guys aren’t really my thing.”

Jake scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “How can you not be into muscles?”

He flexes his arm, showing off muscle that no woman could resist. Only the peak isn’t as full, the sleeve of his shirt hanging just a bit looser than it did a minute ago. He catches it, but maintains the smile. Figures the lighting is off.

She looks at him, unimpressed, “I said what I said.”

He smirks, leaning closer. “I’m more than just muscle, you know.”

“Mhmm... Doubt that.”

"Yeah?” he smirks, "Give me a chance and I'll prove you wrong." He readjusts his shirt, barely registering how it no longer clings tightly to his chest.

“I'm good." She shrugs, "All that body hair isn't winning you any prizes with me."

Jake huffs a laugh. “What? C’mon! That’s what makes me a real man.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” he says, glancing down as he casually drags his thumb along his forearm- then pauses.

The dark hair there looks… lighter. Thinner. He rubs again against increasingly smoother skin.

“That's... that doesn't make sense.” he mutters, forcing a grin, though his fingers linger.

His other hand comes up, brushing his jaw. He paused. His usual rough stubble is... gone. Like he just shaved. His confidence flickers and he feels a cold shiver run through him as his chest prickles under his shirt.

Jake straightens abruptly. “Woah that's not...” Lena is smiling, a predatory look in her eye, "I... wait here, I'll be right back" He chuckles, nervously- mind racing. He needed a mirror. Just to check. To confirm.

He takes a half step back. Lena leans in just slightly, smiling.

“No, stay,” Her voice lifts. “I’m enjoying our little conversation.” She runs a hand along his smooth jaw, "Please." Jake feels his heart flutter, "Just relax, tough guy."

Jake grunts as the tension drains out of him. He should be on edge. He was on edge. But he feels his posture soften, weight shifting onto one leg, hips angling slightly without permission. His stance opens up. Less guarded, more… inviting.

“Wh-what?”

His lower back arches subtly as he shifts. His stance now blatantly emphasizing his ass. Jake stiffens at that, registering just how exactly he looked standing there.

“No way...” he mutters, trying and failing to address his stance, "I look so..."

He tries to square himself again. To stand with the same commanding presence he usually did. But the adjustment slips, settling back into that same relaxed pose. His ass jutting out, begging for attention.

“You did ask me what my type was." Jake's eyes widen as he realizes he's standing at eye level with Lena now, "But it's so much more than the physical. I like guys who know how to be vulnerable."

Jake swallows, “I mean... yeah, I can be vulnerable,” he says, but it comes out softer, less certain. His shoulders pull in as he talks, frame narrowing further, “It’s just, like... I don’t usually say this stuff out loud, I just kinda… push it down, you know? Be a man about it...” He freezes, “Why am I saying this?” His voice jumps... higher. Whinier.

Lena smiles, "It's okay to open up, Jake."

Jake’s hand flies to his throat. “Okay, no... like why does my voice sound like this? This's not... like, not my voice.” It spikes again, edging toward a whine.

"Jake?" He recognizes that voice, "Dude, what the fuck?"

“Brett!” Jake blurts, cringing at the pitch of his voice, but relief floods in anyway. “Oh my god... thank god you noticed! Something’s like… totally wrong!”

Brett steps in close, brow furrowed. “What happened to you, man?”

“I don’t know!” Jake says quickly, voice light and uneven. “She just, like... started saying stuff and now I’m...”

A sharp snap. Brett goes still. His expression melts, eyes half-lidded, mouth slack. Drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Jake stares, “What? Brett?”

He grabs Brett’s arm instinctively and pauses. His fingers press into Brett’s bicep, lingering a second too long. There’s a flicker of something... appreciation?

Jake jerks his hand back and spins towards Lena, “Like, what did you do to him?!”

Lena barely glances at Brett. “Don’t worry about him,” she says smoothly. “Focus on something more fun. Like gossip… or cute guys.”

Jake tries to hold onto his panic, but her voice threads through it, steady and impossible to ignore. His thoughts begin to blur at the edges, like something is quietly wiping them clean, and before he can latch onto what he’s losing, new ones slip in—lighter, easier, strangely compelling. He finds himself wondering who’s attractive, who gets attention, who deserves it.

Behind him, Lena leans toward Brett, whispering into his ear. Jake turns without meaning to... and this time, he really looks. The line of Brett’s arms, the way his shirt fits across his chest, the way his slacked jaw and dim eyes look.

“Oh wow.” Jake’s breath slows and he licks his lips.

He'd seen Brett in the locker room after games. Knew what he was packing. He never thought much about that. But now? God... he wanted it now. He wanted Brett.

“Now you’re more my type,” Lena looks over Jake carefully, satisfied. “But I doubt I’m yours.”

Jake blinks, still looking at Brett, something warm and fluttery settling in his chest. He lets out a soft, airy laugh, barely even thinking about it.

“Yeah, I mean… like… no offense, but… yeah.” He winces slightly at how natural that felt.

Lena smiles. “So tell me... what is your type?”

Jake doesn’t hesitate this time. He glances back at Brett, eyes lingering, a small, giddy smile slipping through. “I mean… Brett,” he says, almost giggling. “Obviously.”

"He's kinda cute."

“Kinda? Bitch, he's hot." Jake can't believe the words leaving his mouth, but they don't stop, "So like... we're..."

"Besties." Lena grins, "I needed a new gay bestie anyway." She looks over at Brett and snaps her fingers, "And what are besties for?"

Brett's face contorts and settles. The dull look in his eyes shifting as he looks over Jake. Replaced by something hungrier. Jake watches as Brett steps closer, slow, deliberate. His eyes stay locked on Jake.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice lower than Jake remembers. “You look… different.”

Jake giggles, “Different good, right?”

Brett’s hand comes up, hesitating just a second before brushing along Jake’s waist. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Really good.”

Jake inhales sharply, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans, eyes flicking up through his lashes.

“Wow, okay…” he says, half-giggling. “You’re, like, being really forward right now.”

Brett smirks faintly, closing the space between them. “You don’t seem to mind.”

Jake bites his lip, heat rushing to his face. “I mean… I don't.”

“My room’s just upstairs,” Brett murmurs, leaning in slightly. “You wanna check it out?”

Jake lets out a soft, breathy laugh, glancing back at Lena for half a second before looking up at Brett again. “I mean… yeah,” he says, voice light and a little giddy, fingers brushing Brett’s arm. “Lead the way.”

Lena watches for a beat, satisfied, “Have fun, you two!”

--------------

Jake moans loudly as Brett slams into him from behind. He arches his back, pushing his fat ass further along Brett's length. His own cock, smaller than he remembered it being, throbbing uselessly. But he doesn't care. Not when he can feel Brett balls deep inside him.

"Fuck yes," Jake gasps out, hands fisting in the sheets beneath him. "Harder, Brett. Fuck me harder." Brett grunts, gripping Jake's hips as he picks up the pace, "Oh fuck!"

Jake couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy each time Brett bottomed out. The same kinda sounds he imagined Lena making if the night had gone differently. But now? His world was narrowing, focused only on the feeling of the dick pounding into his thicc, juicy ass. Because for Jake, nothing else mattered in this moment - not his pride, not his former identity. And it never would again.

A bit of a longer one! Hope you enjoy and thanks for the requests! Any feedback is welcomed!

“This isn’t a road you want to go down.”

Looking back, maybe Thomas should’ve listened. At the time, though, he couldn’t even begin to understand what William meant.

“He was my father, just as much as he was yours,” Thomas had shot back. “You’re not cutting me out.”

Their father had been obscenely wealthy... real estate, contracting, the kind of empire that didn’t leave room for doubt. And like many men in his position, he’d had affairs. Thomas was the result of one of them. But instead of denying him, their father had claimed him, raised him, given him every advantage. Now, after his death, that decision was being dragged back into the light.

“Father should’ve never...”

“Well, he did,” Thomas cut in, already tired of the argument. “And he loved me. He wouldn’t’ve approved this. He would’ve wanted me to...”

“I warned you,” William interrupted coldly. “You’re not getting a thing from this estate.”

----------------

“Excellent report, Thomas.”

He smiled at his boss’s praise. “Thank you, sir.”

He hadn’t needed the family business to succeed. His work ethic and easy charm carried him forward at a startup where he was quickly making a name for himself. He was building something on his own terms. Something he could be proud of.

Later, changing for an evening walk, he queued up a philosophy podcast and grabbed an iced green tea.

“Alright, let’s...”

A knock interrupted him and when he answered, he was greet by two men in suits.

“Are you Thomas Lancer?”

"Yeah, that's me.” he said slowly. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re with the Department of Ontic Corrections. You’ve been identified as a potential infringement.”

----------------

They were called "docs". Agents of the DOC. Most people didn't want to run into these guys.

“We ensure predictability,” one agent explained as proceedings began. “And in predictability, we find stability.”

Thomas sat in a stark room, surrounded by agents, judges, lawyers. William sat across from him, smirking. Thomas could only listen as his life was dissected into probabilities, reduced to numbers. And after several hours of discussion, the head judge spoke.

"Thomas Lancer, it is our belief that your existence itself deviates significantly from the expected trajectory based on the most likely statistical outcomes. Moreover, this anomaly has significant ramifications for the Lancer family and therefore confers necessary corrections."

Thomas swallowed hard. William had won. Embarrassed him. Demeaned him in front of everyone.

“Fine,” he said bitterly. “I don’t need his money. You can have it.”

“Ah,” the judge replied, “but removing you from the inheritance does not resolve the underlying deviation.”

Thomas frowned. “What does that mean?”

William smirked. “It means you shouldn't have been raised as my brother.”

The room went silent.

Thomas felt his blood run cold.

“Wh… what?"

------------------

Thomas barely had time to process what William's words meant before he was dragged by the DOC officers to a sterile white room filled with strange pod-like devices.

"Welcome Mr. Lancer." A man in a different suit greeted him outside the pod, "I'm DOC Assessment Officer Davis. I'll be overseeing your correction." He smiled and looked down at his tablet.

"Correction?" Thomas whispered, "I don't... what're you going to do to me?"

Davis didn't look up, "We reconstruct the life you were statistically meant to live, introduced directly through our system. As those layers integrate, the pod makes corresponding physical adjustments so your body aligns with that history. It’s comprehensive, seamless. You won’t experience it as loss, Mr. Lancer… if that’s what you’re worried about."

“But... I built my job myself... my life is mine now.”

Davis gave a small, almost sympathetic smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “But the core deviation is still there. This outcome was never part of your probable trajectory. We’re not taking anything from you, Mr. Lancer, we’re aligning your life with the outcome you were always most likely to reach.”

“That’s not restoration,” Thomas argued, pulse pounding. “You can't do this. I won't just...”

“You don't have a choice.” Davis replied softly, gesturing toward the pod as it hissed and opened, "Now please undress."

Thomas hesitated only briefly before complying, folding his clothes with trembling hands as if the small act of neatness might anchor him to himself. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished surface of the pod. Lean, toned, swimmer’s build, smooth skin, the careful maintenance of someone who had always had time to care.

"Please enter."

The interior glowed faintly, sterile and inviting in a way that made his stomach turn. He stepped inside, lying back as the curved surface molded to him, sealing him in.

--------------

At first, it wasn’t pain. It was… intrusion.

A warmth spread along his temples, threading inward, and suddenly there was a memory... Forceful, overwhelming something else that had been there. A cramped living room. The hum of an old TV. The sharp scent of cheap beer.

“Tommy,” a rough voice called, casual and familiar in a way that made Thomas’s chest tighten. “Grab me one while you’re up.”

The name landed wrong... Tommy- and yet, disturbingly, it didn’t stay wrong for long. He could see himself moving through that space, younger, grabbing a bottle from a fridge that rattled when it opened.

A man... Greg, his mom’s boyfriend, sat sprawled on the couch, broad, worn, solid in a way that radiated authority without effort.

“Atta boy,” Greg muttered, taking the beer.

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s body slackened slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased. The sterile hum of the machine blended with the low drone of that TV, the two realities overlapping until the difference blurred. The memory of his real father- tailored suits, polished offices- felt… distant. Thinner. Less lived in. Greg’s presence, by contrast, was heavy, immediate, grounding.

--------------

The next shift came harder.

Thomas... no... Tommy... stood in front of a mirror, but the reflection wasn’t quite right. The frame was thicker, the edges of muscle less refined and more functional, built through repetition rather than design. His hair looked less styled, more… neglected. He lingered there a moment too long, staring, trying to reconcile what he was seeing... trying to understand.

“Don’t just stand there gawkin’ at yourself,” Greg’s voice snapped from behind him, sharp with irritation. “Mirror ain’t gonna do the work for you.”

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s breath hitched sharply as sensation followed the memory. His muscles tightened, then shifted, a dull, spreading ache as fibers seemed to knit differently beneath his skin. It wasn’t dramatic, not all at once, but it was real. His arms felt heavier, denser. His chest expanded, rising with each slow breath.

"Dial it up." Davis said, watching Thomas's progress closely.

--------------

The shift into the next phase did not come gently. It hit like impact. Sudden, jarring, full of motion. Tommy was on a field, the ground uneven beneath his cleats. Someone slammed into him, and instead of fear, there was a surge... hot, immediate, good. Football. Not swimming or golf. A real man's sport.

“Get up!” Greg’s voice cut through from the sidelines, louder than anyone else’s, full of rough-edged approval. “That’s it! Hit ‘em back!”

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s back arched as sensation flooded him. His muscles tightened violently, then began to swell... not grotesquely, not all at once, but undeniably. His shoulders broadened, the clean, streamlined lines of a swimmer thickening into something denser, more impact-ready. There was weight to him now.

"Wait..." Thomas mumbled, voice flat and distant.

--------------

The next wave came rougher. A flick of a lighter in the dark. The sharp inhale of smoke burning down his throat, making him cough hard enough to double over while laughter echoed around him.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Greg muttered, though there was a crooked grin behind it. “You’ll get used to it.”

The burn dulled into something tolerable, then familiar. Again... and again.

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s lungs seized for a moment, a phantom irritation scraping through his chest before settling. And then he felt it. A craving. A need for a cigarette. And the memories didn’t stop.

--------------

A cheap bar, loud and crowded. The sticky floor beneath his boots. Someone bumping into him too hard... and the reaction was immediate. A shove. A shout. Then fists.

“Atta boy,” Greg said later, voice approving even as he handed Tommy something cold to press against his face. “Can’t let people walk all over you.”

--------------

In the pod, Thomas gasped as his face twitched, a deep, aching pressure forming along the bridge of his nose before settling. Not breaking, not fully, but changing. Less refined. Slightly off. His skin, too, seemed different. Less cared for, faint imperfections surfacing, the kind that came from sun, from work, from not paying attention to things that used to matter.

"How's his progress?"

Look for yourself."

Inside the pod, Thomas’s body had begun to tell the story before his mind fully caught up. His frame thicker now, muscle settling in with a denser, work-built weight. Fine hairs had started to gather across his chest and stomach, subtle but new. A faint shadow of stubble edged his jaw, and along his arms, the ghost of ink- half-formed lines of tattoos- lingered just beneath the skin, not yet complete, but no longer absent.

"Perfect."

--------------

This time, the memory didn’t force itself in. It settled. Tommy leaned against the side of a work truck, metal warm from the sun, dust clinging to his skin. He shifted and caught his reflection in the window.

Something felt off. He stepped closer.

His frame had filled out. Thicker through the chest and shoulders, solid rather than sculpted. His hair sat uneven, pushed back without care, and a rough layer of stubble shadowed his jaw. When he tugged at his collar, he noticed darker hair spreading faintly across his chest.

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas grimaced as it happened. The itch across his chest, sharper now, as hair thickened. His jaw tightened as stubble coarsened.

--------------

“School starts next week.”

“Yeah… don’t think I’m goin’ back.”

No conflict. Just relief. Greg glanced over from where he stood, sizing him up for half a second before giving a small nod.

“Figured,” he said. “You’re already makin’ yourself useful.”

--------------

"St... stop..." He whispered, eyes half lidded. His awareness of the word around him overwhelmed by the memories he was being guided by.

Thomas tried again to hold onto something... an idea, a plan, the importance of what he was losing... but each attempt came up shorter than the last. Thoughts simplified... the need for anything more complex was fading. In their place came something steadier. The memory of a long day’s work settling into his muscles. The satisfaction of finishing something tangible. The ease of sitting back with a drink, not thinking too far ahead. His breathing slowed. Deepened. The panic flickered... and then faltered.

--------------

The pod’s hum shifted again. Lower, denser, like it was pressing inward rather than surrounding him.

“Final correction phase initiated. Cognitive resistance collapse accelerated.”

There was no space for thought anymore. Just overflow. Drowning out anything that was left of "Thomas Lancer."

--------------

Nights stacked into each other without edges. Cheap beer burning down his throat after work, laughter he didn’t need to explain, cigarette smoke curling out into streetlight haze. Ash flicked away with an easy motion. The weight of his body collapsing into whatever chair, curb, or bed was closest. Exhaustion, release, repetition. Each memory slid into the next without pause, stripping away anything that required reflection to hold.

The morning light woke him up. He dragged himself upright in a narrow, unmade bed, sheets twisted and half-hanging off the side. The apartment around him was dim and cluttered. Empty beer cans on a table, clothes tossed wherever they landed, the air thick with a stale, musky smell that clung to everything. He didn’t notice it. Didn’t care.

"Hell..."

He stretched slowly, arms pulling up over his head, back arching as something popped along his spine. His pits were damp, hair thicker there now, holding onto the smell of yesterday’s sweat. He exhaled through his nose, scratching idly at his chest, fingers dragging through the coarse spread of hair. A low grunt left him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He shuffled toward the bathroom, bare feet dragging slightly against the floor, and leaned over the sink, staring into the mirror without really thinking about it. Ran a hand through his hair. Messy, sticking out in places, flattened in others.

Scratched at his beard. Spat into the sink. For a moment, he just stood there. Not analyzing. Not questioning. Life wasn’t complicated. Get up. Go to work. Get paid. Grab a drink after if the day was rough, which it usually was. Maybe catch a game if something was on. Didn’t need much more than that. He snorted softly to himself, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice rough with sleep. "Could be worse."

--------------

Inside the pod, there was no resistance left to mirror. Only completion. His body settled into itself fully. Weight distributed differently now, thicker through the torso and limbs, every inch of him carrying the quiet density of years of labor. The last traces of softness gave way to something more permanent, more worn-in.

--------------

The site was already loud when he rolled in, gravel crunching under his boots as he hopped out and lit a cigarette.

"Harris!" someone barked.

He jerked his chin up. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Damn, can’t even get a smoke in first?"

A couple guys chuckled.

Tom Harris now... had been for years. "Tommy" didn’t stick past being a kid. He grabbed his gear, spitting to the side. "Alright, what're we hittin' first?"

--------------

Inside the pod, his eyes fluttered beneath sealed lids, a faint groan slipping out as his head shifted against the surface.

"Aw, damn… my head…"

--------------

Leaning against a truck during a break, cigarette hanging loose from his lips, someone nudged him. "You still lookin' for steadier work?"

Tom shrugged, flicking ash onto the gravel. “Long as it pays better than this crap.”

“Lancer’s crew is hirin’. Bigger jobs. Better hours.”

He squinted slightly, rolling the name around in his head for all of a second before exhaling smoke. “Lancer, huh? Yeah… sure. I’ll give it a look.”

The name didn’t stir anything... no memory, no connection, not even a passing sense of familiarity. Just another company, same as any other, another crew, another paycheck at the end of the week.

Later, filling out paperwork, he barely glanced at the logo stamped across the top.

Lancer Construction

His pen scratched across the line beneath it:

Tom Harris

Signed clean. No hesitation.

No idea.

--------------

The pod opened with a low hiss, and Tom stepped out slowly, his body heavy in that dull, satisfying way that followed deep sleep. He stretched without thinking, arms rising overhead as his back cracked, chest expanding with a slow breath that carried no urgency. The air felt cooler against his bare skin, but it didn’t bother him. His gaze drifted lazily to the folded clothes nearby, lingering only a moment as if trying to place them before the thought slipped. They didn’t feel like his. He turned instead to the rough denim and worn fabric set aside for him, already reaching for them without question.

“Everything checks out,” one of the DOC agents said, glancing up from the tablet. “Identification, employment, residency are all aligned. Tom Harris, you're good to go”

“Yeah?” Tom tugged on the jeans, rolling his shoulders as the fabric settled naturally against him, then pulled the shirt over his head. “Good. Didn’t feel like stickin’ around here anyway.”

--------------

Out in the hall, he slowed slightly when he spotted a sharply dressed man lingering nearby. Something about him stood out... clean, put-together, out of place.

“Hey,” Tom said, nodding. “You’re Lancer’s kid, right? Seen you on-site.”

William’s smile came easy, thin and satisfied. “I was curious how things turned out,” he said, voice smooth. “Seems you’ve landed exactly where you belong.”

Tom scratched at his chest through the fabric, frowning faintly. “Yeah… guess so,” he muttered, glancing him over. “Kinda weird you bein’ here, though. Don’t you got people for this stuff?”

William’s expression didn’t shift. “I like to stay involved.”

Tom huffed lightly, already losing interest. Still, as he walked past, a faint thought tugged at him... what was he himself doing here? But it slipped loose before it could settle.

--------------

The site noise hit him full force as he arrived, boots crunching over gravel, cigarette already between his fingers as he lit it.

“Harris! You draggin’ ass today?” someone called.

He took a drag, exhaling slow. “Yeah, yeah, keep talkin’. I’ll outwork you anyway.”

A couple of the guys laughed and he got to work. It came naturally, his body moving without hesitation, every motion familiar in a way that didn’t need thinking. He adjusted his grip, muscles tightening as he lifted, falling into rhythm with the others.

For a brief second, something felt off... but the weight in his hands grounded him again, steady and certain.

“Quit starin’ into space and move,” someone barked.

Tom smirked faintly, shifting the load. “Yeah, yeah! I got it.”

How about a jock with easy confidence and charisma with a natural of self with a jealous roommate who turns him into a needy, self ridiculing, anxiety riddled, scared of the world twink.who needs constant reassurance and support from his boyfriend (doesn't have to be the roommate can a jock like he was before) and help making nearly every important thing.

Really fun idea! And definitely on the longer side. Really wanted to capture this one from start to finish. Hope you enjoy it!

The sauna was packed, but Jack barely noticed. Heat, sweat, easy conversation—it was his element. He leaned back against the wood, arms stretched along the bench, grinning as one of his buddies chirped him about moving day.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack laughed. “Gotta go help my new roommate. Bro sounds like a mess over text, honestly. Figure I’ll get him out more, you know? Fix the vibe a little.”

“Fix the vibe,” one of them echoed. “Classic Jack.”

He shrugged, easy. “What? Dude just needs confidence. Not that hard.”

And he believed that. Always had. People overthought everything: how they looked, how they sounded. Jack didn’t. You showed up, you were yourself, things worked out. Keep it simple.

---------------

Jack knew within about thirty seconds that Liam was… a lot. Not bad. Not even unlikable. Just... loud in a way that filled every gap in a room.

"...and this guy was like, ‘I’m not into twinks,’ and I’m standing there like, okay, cool, did you not see my selfie?"

Jack blinked. "Wait... what’s a twink?"

Liam stopped, turned, and gave him a long, exaggerated once-over. "Oh my god. You’re serious?" A pause, then a dramatic sigh. "Honey… you have, like, sooo much to learn."

Jack laughed, a little unsure, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, man, guess I do."

Liam kept going... about guys, about rejection, about how everything always came down to looks. It was constant. Every story circled back to it. Who was hotter, who got ignored, who didn’t measure up.

"You’re overthinking it," Jack said, leaning back against the counter. "Just relax. Be yourself. People like confidence. Trust me, bro!"

Liam paused, looking almost offended, “Must be nice.”

Jack frowned. “What?”

“Not caring what people think.”

Jack shrugged automatically. “I mean… yeah, I guess. Never really thought about it.”

Liam just hummed, like that answered everything.

---------------

Later, in his room, Jack kicked the door shut behind him and tugged his shirt off, tossing it onto the bed without thinking. He glanced at the mirror, just a quick check, same as always. Except… he didn’t look away. His eyes dropped to his stomach. He’d never really thought about it before, not like this. But now the line of hair down his abs stood out more than it should’ve. Darker. Thicker. It broke up the definition in a way that suddenly felt… off. Messy, almost.

Jack ran a hand over it, frowning slightly. “It’s fine,” he muttered, like he needed to say it out loud.

He straightened, flexed a little. Habit. But instead of the usual quick nod and move on, he hesitated. His chest didn’t pop the same way it did at the gym. Or maybe it did. He couldn’t tell. Still, he shifted his shoulders, trying a different angle. Then again. And then he noticed his necklace. And for the first time, he wondered... Is this tacky? Did it look kinda cheap?

Jack let out a short chuckle. “Chill dude.”

---------------

“Glad you agreed to come along.” Jack smiled as they stepped onto the gym floor. “This is gonna be good for you. Build some confidence, get you feeling better about yourself.”

Liam looked around, already tense. “Or I humiliate myself publicly. Love that for me.”

“You’re fine,” Jack reassured with a grin, “Stick with me.”

They started easy, but Liam struggled. Arms shaking, stopping early, constantly glancing at himself in the mirror.

“God, I look awful,” Liam muttered. “Like, actually tragic.”

“Trust me, no one’s looking,” Jack said automatically, "Here, let me show you the right form..."

He grabbed his usual weight, sat down, pressed... and immediately felt it. Heavy. Wrong. His arms wobbled on the second rep, stalling halfway up. Jack’s jaw tightened as he forced it back into place.

"Okay,” He tried to laugh it off, “Off day.”

But when he reached for the weight again, he hesitated. For the first time, he noticed the guy a few benches over. Then another, across the room. Were they watching? Did that rep look as bad as it felt? And suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how he looked.

"You okay?"

"Ye-yea..." Jack mumbled, "Uh, maybe we should just go."

"Oh no! What about my routine?"

"Your routine?"

"I focus on all the right places," Liam explained, "A bottom needs a juicy ass, babe."

"A bottom?" Jack repeated, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Really? You have so much to learn." Liam teased, patting Jack's arm, "Tops need something nice to squeeze while they rail you senseless."

Jack swallowed hard, face flushing slightly at the blunt talk. He glanced away.

"I guess I never really thought about it that way…"

"Well, now you know," Liam said airily, "So humor me, okay big boy? Besides, you could use a good leg day."

---------------

“This is so unrealistic,” Liam muttered.

Jack sat back into the couch, his ass sore from what had to be the fifth day in a row of Liam's gym routine. Meanwhile, Liam was curled into the other side, phone in hand, only half-watching the screen.

“No one just… ends up together like that. Not without a reason.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh. “You’d be surprised, bro.”

Liam finally looked at him then. Really looked at him, eyebrow raised.

“Would I?”

Jack shifted slightly. “I mean… yeah. Me and Erica, for example. We’re good. No drama, no weird stuff. Just works.”

“Well duh…” Liam shook his head. “You’re tall. You don’t try too hard, which people love. You’re built…” he paused, tilting his head slightly, “…well, you were more built a few weeks ago, but still.”

“What?” Jack blinked and looked down at himself. “I haven’t changed that much.”

“Someone's defensive!” Liam smirked. The two sat in uneasy silence. “You think she’d still be with you if that changed?”

“That’s not...” Jack shook his head. “No... That’s not how it works.”

“Confident!” Liam smiled. “But there’s always a reason.” A small pause. “And it’s usually something you can lose.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the movie neither of them were really watching anymore.

“Dude... you overthink this stuff too much.” Jack said, quieter now.

“Maybe,” Liam shrugged.

Jack looked back at the TV, but his focus slipped almost immediately. His mind snagged on something else… something smaller.

You were more built a few weeks ago.

Erica always said this shirt looked good on him, that she loved the way it highlighted his muscles. But now? The fabric wasn't taut against his pecs. Even the sleeves sat different, the cotton no longer hugging his upper arms. Looser. Unimpressive. He flexed subtly, but the movement barely changed anything. No pull, no stretch. His arms were actually… smaller.

“L-O-L! You’re doing it again.”

Jack’s head snapped up, “Doing what?”

“Inspecting!” Liam giggled, nodding toward him. “You've been checking yourself out more."

“I am not!” The words came out sharper- and higher- than he expected, the pitch jumping suddenly before he could catch it. Jack blinked, clearing his throat quickly. “I’m not... I'm just...”

Liam raised an eyebrow, then gave a small, knowing smile.

"I-I'm going to bed." Jack huffed, "See you tomorrow, bro."

---------------

“You're so jittery!” Liam laughed, already pushing the door open. “Aren't these your friends?”

“Yeah, I know, I just... like... yeah.” Jack trailed off, looking down at himself, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

It fit tighter, which would've made Jack happy if it was his shirt. But he borrowed this one from Liam. It stretched taut across his slim torso. And his pants? Tight as fuck from all those glute workouts. Highlighting his ass in a way that would certainly draw attention.

“Yo!” one of his boys called. “There he is.”

Jack smiled, “Hey~! What’s up!?” His voice came out lighter than he meant it to, a soft lift at the end. He blinked, clearing his throat.

Erica stepped in with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi babe!”

The kiss was quick... and empty. He blinked slightly as he pulled back.

“You good?” she asked lightly.

“Yeah,” Jack said quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

One of the guys gave him a once-over. “New look?”

Jack shrugged quickly. “I mean... yeah. Just like... trying something different, I guess.”

Liam slid in beside him. “He looks good.”

“Yeah,” another friend said. “Just… not what I expected.”

Jack laughed, a little too fast. “Okay, wow, rude,” he said playfully, earning a raised eyebrow from Erica.

They settled in, drinks passed around, Liam made his introduction. But as the conversation picked up, Jack felt... off. Same topics. Same jokes. Jack found himself drifting, only half-listening, his attention snagging on other things... how people looked, who was watching who.

“So you still lifting?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” Jack nodded. “Just, like not as heavy. I’ve been doing more, like… cardio? And legs.”

“Legs?” his friend repeated. “Since when do you care about legs?” A couple laughs.

Jack felt his chest tighten. “I mean... people notice a nice ass. Sorry I don't base my whole personality off how much I can bench.” It came out harsh... defensive even.

“Woah dude, I was just joking.” his friend raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, no, I know, I just... yeah.” A small, breathy laugh slipped out.

He took a quick sip of his drink, eyes flicking around the room like he was trying to reset.

Liam nudged him. “Okay, but that guy? The shirt is… not helping him.”

Jack followed his gaze automatically. “Oh my god, yeah,” he said, a sharper laugh slipping out. “And the hairline? Like... pick a struggle.” He blinked right after, like the words had surprised him.

“Dude,” one of his friends cut in, frowning. “You don’t gotta be a dick.”

Jack’s smile faltered. “I’m just joking...”

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

“Right... yeah. Sorry,” Jack said again, softer now.

The conversation moved on... without him. Jack frowned, leaning back in his chair. Something about his own voice...his tone... himself...felt off. As he quietly withdrew from his friends, something snagged his attention.

“Hey… that guy over there?” he whispered to Erica. “The one in the black shirt.”

Erica frowned slightly but glanced over. “What about him?”

“He’s been, like… looking at me.” Jack said, a little too quick.

She looked again, then shrugged. “I mean… maybe?”

“No, like... he is.” he said, quieter now. Tight but not entirely anxious.

Erica didn’t answer right away. “Do you... want him to be?”

“I mean...” Jack hesitated, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth, “I don’t not want him to be.”

Erica nodded slowly. “Oh...” Jack could see a sudden sadness in her eyes, “I’m... I need to call Jess real quick.”

“Oh... yeah, okay,” Jack said, blinking.

He watched her walk off, something in his chest tightening. When he looked back at the table, the conversation had already moved on again without him.

---------------

Jack replayed it more than he wanted to admit. Erica across from him, arms folded, voice calm in that way that made it worse.

“I don’t think this is working anymore.”

And him... just sitting there. He wanted to say something. Something important... Instead, there was nothing. Just a strange, hollow feeling, like he’d missed something important without knowing when.

"God you've been moping for days!" Liam whined, "Here, throw this on. We're going out."

---------------

"Where are we going?" Jack whined.

"Shhhh you'll see!"

Jack slowed as they got in line, the music bleeding out onto the street, the way people stood a little closer to each other than he was used to.

"Oh my god!” he let out, a quiet, nervous laugh slipping free. “Is this a gay bar?”

Liam just glanced at him. “You’re so cute when you piece things together.”

"Is this why you wanted me to wear this?” he asked.

His tank top clung to him- tight, thin, riding up just enough to expose his stomach. Flat. Smooth. Too smooth. His eyes lingered there for a second longer than they should have. The treasure trail he was used to... gone. Not trimmed. Not shorter. Just… not there. Jack’s brow knit slightly.

Had it always been like that?

The shorts were worse. Short, tight, hugging high on his thighs in a way that made his ass feel fully, undeniably on display. And it was. It wasn’t subtle. It was the point.

“You look good.”

Jack swallowed, voice softer now, that higher, lighter tone settling naturally. “I feel like… totally exposed.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh as they made there way inside.

---------------

The dance floor swallowed him quickly. At some point, Liam was gone and Jack found himself hovering at the edge, watching, feeling... out of place.

“You new here?”

Jack turned and gawked at the man behind him. Broad shoulders, solid chest, the kind of grounded confidence Jack used to carry without thinking about it.

"Is it that obvious?” he asked.

The guy smiled. “A little.” He held out his hand, "C'mon."

Jack hesitated briefly, but took the man's hand. He was pulled into the crowd, the flashing lights disorienting as the music pressed in around them. Bodies moved close, the space tightening, and suddenly the guy’s hands were on him- firm at his waist, steady, guiding him into the rhythm. Jack followed without thinking too hard.

Then... a squeeze. Sharp, deliberate.

Jack’s breath caught, his body jolting slightly at the sudden pressure on his ass. He shuddered. Looked up at the man. Lips quivering. The guy’s expression softened into something amused.

“Fuck... you’re so cute.” Jack swallowed, heat rushing to his face... but he didn’t pull away. “Is that okay?” the guy asked, quieter now, giving Jack's ass another squeeze.

“…Yeah,” Jack moaned, softer. “Yeah, it’s okay. More than okay...”

And it was. The man smirked.

“You wanna get out of here?”

Jack didn’t look for Liam.

“I... Yeah.”

---------------

The bedroom was dim, warm. Jack stepped inside and slowed without meaning to, suddenly aware again—of his body, of his clothes, of the way the guy gazed at him. Not casually. Intentionally.

“You okay?” the guy asked, stepping closer, voice lower now.

Jack nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah… I think so.”

“Do you want to?” he asked gently. “We can just hang. We don’t have to do anything.”

Jack hesitated. It had felt good... being wanted like that... being touched like that. But the thought tangled uneasily in his chest. He was straight… wasn’t he?

“…Yeah,” he said finally, quieter. “I do.”

The guy studied him for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

His tank top came off easily, lifted and gone. He felt... vulnerable. Small compared to the man in front of him.

"Fuck... you're cute."

Jack blushed, turning and unexpectedly catching his reflection in the darkened window. His hair held the light differently, the dark brown he knew softened, warmer now, almost blond at the edges.

Since when...

“It's okay.”

The guy’s hand settled at his waist again, grounding him, thumb brushing lightly against his side. Jack blinked, pulling himself back.

“I...” He swallowed. “I’ve never… done anything with a guy before.”

A small pause. Then a slow, almost amused smile.

“Really?”Jack nodded, his breath catching slightly. “You sure you’re okay with this?” the guy asked again, softer this time.

"Yeah,” Jack said, and meant it.

“Good,” the guy murmured. “You really have no idea what you do to people, do you?”

The words landed warmer than they should have, settling somewhere low in Jack’s chest. Then, the guy pulled his own shirt off. Jack’s eyes followed without thinking

"Wow..." Instinctively, Jack’s hand came up, resting lightly against a muscular pec, feeling the heat, the firmness beneath his palm.

The guy smirked and leaned in...

Jack's first kiss with another man was slow at first. The warmth, the pressure... his hand tightened slightly against the guy’s chest as he responded. He giggled when the kiss broke.

The man leaned in again. Their lips connected. Deeper, more certain. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t confusing. It felt… good. The guy’s hand slid lightly along his side, resting against his bare skin, and Jack felt his breath catch again... but he didn’t pull away.

He leaned into it instead.

It had been a week since he met Paul that night and so much had changed.

“Do you think my hair looks good?” Jack adjusted it again, fingers careful, practiced. It was fully blond now... soft, styled, falling just right. Not effortless anymore. Deliberate, “I think Paul would like it more like… this.”

Liam smirked.

“Oh! Look at these!” Jack turned his head, “I got these. See?” He angled his ears, the small studs catching the light. Flashy. Begging to be noticed. “They’re not too much, right? I just... thought he might…”

Liam watched, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh!” Jack tugged lightly at the hem of his shorts, glancing back. “Look at my ass in these!” A pause, “I want Paul to notice.”

“Oh he'll notice.” Liam laughed.

“Thank god! Like, last time we only kissed! I didn't even get to taste his cock...” He glanced down at his phone again, thumb hovering. “This time, I want him to fuck my brains out. And so like, I need to look good!"

"Poor Jack."

“Now... what about my top...? Like, does it even look good?” Every word felt like it mattered. Every look. Every reaction.

Liam’s eyes flicked over him slowly- taking in the slimmer frame, the softened edges, the way Jack held himself now. Smaller. Careful. A faint smirk pulled at his lips. Jack didn’t notice. He was already looking back at his phone, rereading Paul’s last message.

---------------

"Woah." Paul grinned as he opened the door, "I uh..."

“Hey,” Jack said softly. His eyes betraying his desperate need. Paul’s eyes moved over him slowly, taking everything in: the blond hair, the earrings, his juicy ass.

“I...” he murmured. “You look... amazing.”

Jack flushed, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “You think? I just... I want to look good for you.” He draped his arms over the man's shoulders and nuzzled into his chest.

"You do."

Jack didn’t hesitate this time. Didn’t think. His hand moved along Paul's growing bulge. He licked his plump lips. He'd been practicing, imagining this... obsessing over making Paul feel good.

"I want to gag on it." Jack breathed, "And then I want you to fuck me. Hard. Please..."

Paul smirked and watched as Jack dropped to his knees easily, naturally. Looking up, waiting, searching Paul’s face for approval. The other man wasted no time- quickly freeing his engorged cock.

And Jack felt it then- the validation, that warm, consuming need to be wanted- settle fully into place. He couldn't wait for his reward.

"You're joining the team next year, right man?"

"Yeah bro, that's the plan."

Tony smirked as one of his new gym bros clapped him on the back. Yeah, that was indeed the plan. But it hadn't always been. Hockey? Him? He couldn't fully believe it.

"You were a natural out there."

Tony smiled as he recalled how swiftly he moved on the ice. How easily it came to him. The speed, the thrill... It felt so familiar... Like he had done it hundreds of times prior... Like he had spent his life training to play in college.

"Felt right, man, ya know?"

Just as natural as all the time spent in the gym, focusing on lifting weights rather than only cardio. In hindsight, he couldn't imagine why he hadn't started lifting earlier. His body had responded quickly, like it yearned to pack on muscle. And looking at himself now, with his bulging muscles, body hair, facial hair... A far cry from the scrawny twink he arrived on campus as at the start of the year.

"Twink death."

His gay besties he had met on his first day on campus would say. He heard that phrase even more when they noticed his new chest hairs.

"Twunk!"

"Jock!"

His besties would giggle, poke at his muscles. At first, Tony would laugh. Talk about how many more guys were checking him out. Brag about how they couldn't get enough of his thicker, muscular ass. But even that seemed temporary. Hooking up with men? Tony noticed his attraction shifting. Beautiful blond women with big tits. And it wasn't just his preferences. Endless celebrity gossip with his besties? He would rather talk about sports and watch the big game. Not to check out the hot guys on the team, but because he actually cared. Majoring in theater? Suddenly finance was becoming more attractive, as if he always wanted to pursue a career in the private sector.

"You've changed."

"Did you dye your hair?"

Tony tried to laugh it off. Tell his besties it was just him exploring a different side of him. But as time went on, this him- this "new" him felt right. No one in his family was blond. So how had he been? His brothers and father were massive sports fans. So why wouldn't he be? His gay besties? He would rather hang out with the jocks down the hall- and not just because he found them hot. Their camaraderie felt right. He bonded so easily with them. And suddenly, partying, poppers, and getting his ass fucked felt wrong. That person, that version of him... it didn't really feel like him. And as his first year in college passed by, he felt that the person he was when he arrived on campus was never actually supposed to be him.

"My head..." He grunted and closed his eyes.

These migraines hurt. Becoming more frequent as the months passed. But the migraines came with flashes of something else. Of a different life. Of growing up different. Playing hockey, his first time with a woman, meeting Christi, wanting to get married to her...

"Fuck." Tony whispered. What was he thinking? Who were these people? It hurt. These memories. He longed for them, longed for something that felt more real than who had been these past few months, "What the fuck is..."

His phone buzzed and he looked down at a message. He involuntarily shuddered.

"Let's meet up when you're back."

Paul. He lived next to his parent's place. Just moved in a few days before Tony left for college. How many times had they hooked up before he left? How many times had Paul fucked him? Tony gulped. Paul was always so dominant. So in charge. Tony had drooled over the man's thick cock more times than he could count. But now? Tony had no interest.

"Alright." Tony replied. He felt he at least owed Paul an explanation for his sudden change.

---------------

Tony stood outside Paul's front door, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right, that his memories of Paul and their past together were somehow…off. Before Tony could knock, the door swung open. Paul's musculature and hairy torso greeted him. And while it would've usually turned him on, Tony felt... nothing. Even as he remembered riding Paul's fat cock, which bulged obscenely in his shorts. Even as he remembered Paul's calloused hands squeezing his ass. Even as he remembered stuffing his nose in Paul's musky pits...

"Tony? This is unexpected," Paul raised an eyebrow. His gaze lingered on Tony's muscular frame and short dark hair. Tony figured the "unexpected part" had to do with his appearance, "You look…different."

"I…yeah, I guess I do," Tony mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "I wanted to talk to you about some things…" He trailed off, unsure of exactly what he wanted to say.

"Lets talk indoors." He moved out of the way, inviting Tony in, "Did you have a chance to work out today? I can tell you enjoy it."

Tony sensed the disdain, "I, well..."

But as he stepped inside, a flood of fragmented images popped into his head... He was jogging, shirtless. Appearing as he did now. His muscular physique soaking up the sun. He had stopped for a drink, and that's when he met Paul, seemingly another man out for a jog. They talked and Paul invited him over to use his home gym. After all, Tony's usual gym was closed for repairs.

"I… What was that…?" Tony stopped mid-step and gripped his head, "I've... done this before."

"Huh maybe you have." Paul grinned, "Offer still stands, you coming or what?"

"S-sure..." He replied, numbly.

Paul smirked and placed a firm hand on Tony's broad shoulder, guiding him towards the basement stairs, each step bringing up more fragments. The creaky stairs, the musty smell, the single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling…

"Wait Paul, I don't..." Tony froze as they reached the bottom. No gym equipment, just an empty, solitary chair in the center of the room.

"Have a seat, Tony. We need to…talk." He gestured to the chair.

"But..." He remembered being confused... asking Paul where his equipment was. Being told to sit in the chair. He gripped his head, "Paul, please... what's going on?" His voice sounded small and uncertain, but he did as he was told. He sunk into the cold, hard chair.

"It's time to talk." Paul came up behind Tony and rubbed his shoulders, "But you remember that before we start talking..."

"I need to be naked." Tony mumbled, eyes dulling over.

"Good boy." Paul smirked, "Let me help you out of those clothes."

Tony hesitated, then slowly began removing his clothes under Paul's watchful gaze. First his shirt, exposing the chiseled planes of his chest and abdomen, muscles rippling with each movement. Paul circled him appraisingly.

"Look at that. Just like the day I met you. Those pecs, those abs… It's impressive." Paul's eyes roamed lower, taking in the dusting of dark hair trailing down from his navel. "Hairier too... such a shame." Finally, Tony kicked off his underwear, leaving him completely nude, "Impressive..." He gave Tony's cock a few tugs, feeling it grow in his hand, "This won't do at all. Far too large." He sighed, "I guess I can fix this... again."

"Wha... no, I need to... fix?" Tony mumbled, "Paul, I don't..."

"Shhh, just relax Tony. Imagine your limbs growing heavier. You know this feeling, don't you? The weight, the tingling in your limbs… Just like before."

As Paul spoke, Tony felt his eyelids growing heavy, his muscles relaxing against his will. And he did remember - Paul's deep voice echoing in his mind, the commands... to be something else, something better. And oh how eagerly his body responded…

"Yes, that's right. Focus on my voice. Let everything else fade away," Paul purred, circling the chair. "Starting to remember our first session?"

"I… I remember…" Tony slurred, his words thick and clumsy as he slipped deeper under Paul's sway, "You... changed me..."

"So you remember my trade? Hypnotism and psychology." Paul's voice was rich with pride. "And my research then too?"

Tony nodded, "The mind body connection." He slurred.

"And how what the mind believes can alter the body if the technique is strong enough." Paul continued, "And if the subject is weak enough."

Under the deep trance, Tony's mind flooded with vivid memories of his previous hypnotic session with Paul. He saw himself, growing smaller and softer, listening intently as Paul's voice echoed commands about shrinking, losing muscle, hair lightening to a sunny blond. Each suggestion had felt so right, so inevitable, his body eagerly complying…

"I want you to imagine your body starting to shrink, Tony," Paul commanded, "Feel yourself growing smaller, lighter. Your muscles melting away, your strength fading."

Against his will, Tony felt a tingling sensation spread through his limbs. He watched as his arms began to thin, his biceps deflating like punctured balloons. His triceps collapsing in on themselves. What were once his proud, muscular arms- ready for the life of a hockey player- were two sticks that never looked like they'd seen a dumbbell. With a pained gasp, his pecs began to cave in on themselves, flattening at an alarming rate.

"No..." A pitiful plea escaped his lips as he tried to resist, to clench his muscles and maintain his size, but it was no use. It was as if his body wanted this now, goaded on by his captor.

"That's it Tony, let it happen. Feel your shoulders narrowing, your back thinning out. All that bulky muscle just…melting away."

Tony whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he felt his once powerful back giving way. The thick delts and lats that allowed him to bench press twice his bodyweight now shriveled like raisins. His traps, the source of so much strength and power, disappeared entirely. In moments, his upper body was slim and delicate, hardly recognizable.

"Your six-pack is flattening out, Tony. Feel those defined muscles soften and melt into a smooth, flat plane."

Tony gasped as he felt the distinct ridges of his abdominals begin to blur and merge. The hard, sculpted surface giving way to softness, all definition vanishing. Tony could only run a dainty hand over his flat stomach, wincing at the lack of his proud abdominals.

"Now your legs, Tony. Those thick, powerful thighs and calves. You feel them growing slender and dainty." Paul licked his lips in anticipation.

Tony cried out as he felt the changes rippling through his lower half. His quads, once rock-hard and bulging, began to slenderize rapidly. The dense calf muscles that propelled him across the ice at incredible speeds melted away, leaving behind slim, dainty appendages. Even his feet seemed to shrink slightly, becoming soft and cute.

"Now picture your hair. Not black, but golden. Soft and fine and silky to the touch." Paul reached out and ran his fingers through Tony's locks, watching in satisfaction as the strands shifted hue and texture before his eyes.

"Pl-please..."

"Don't worry, I know. I know having this kind of equipment is too much for a vapid twink to handle." Paul again tugged at Tony's dick, "I want you to feel your cock shrinking, Tony. Diminishing in size until it's barely more than a useless nub."

Tony whimpered in despair as he felt his most masculine attribute beginning to fail him. His once impressive manhood started to dwindle, inch by agonizing inch. Within moments, what remained was a pathetic little nub that shamefully throbbed in Paul's hand.

"Perfect."

But to Tony, this was far from perfect. His mind raced, barely taking note as his body hair vanished, leaving him smooth. Didn't register his skin becoming soft, smooth, and unblemished. All he could focus on were the sudden memories of that first session. How Paul's voice wrapped around his mind like a vice, shaping his very identity. Being molded into a giggling, vapid twink, obsessed with fashion and sex.

"You... stole my life..."

Tears streamed down Tony's face as fragments of his old life surfaced- charging down the ice, stick in hand, heart pounding with exhilaration. Pushing his body to its limits at the gym, building muscle. Flirting with with chicks at parties, high-fiving his bros. None of it matched the empty-headed twink he had become and was being forced to become again.

"Paul…" He whined in a voice several octaves higher than only a few minutes ago, "Don't do this to me. Please." He begged in his slurred, slutty voice, "I remember who I used to be..."

Ignoring Tony's pitiful pleas, Paul slipped a pair of headphones over the smaller man's ears. Instantly, a repetitive monotone filled his senses, drilling Paul's instructions directly into his psyche.

"…you will submit to Paul completely. Your purpose is to serve and please him in any way he desires. Cleaning his house naked, doing his chores, serving as his house boy brings you immense joy and fulfillment. Presenting your holes for his use is your greatest pleasure…"

Tony whimpered as the voices seeped into his mind, eroding his already weakened will. He felt himself slipping, his brain felt fuzzy, less sharp, focused only on the words. The memories of his old life that had been bubbling to the surface were quickly drowning in the new images of a different life. Of Paul and all his needs. Drool trickled from his slack mouth, eyes glazing over.

"'Mh…mwh…yhyhyou?"

Paul raised an eyebrow and grinned, "Are you already that fucking brain dead that you can't talk?" He removed a single earbud, "Try again, use your words."

Tony licked his plump lips, struggling to form a coherent thought. "Wh-why… why... m...m....mmmm.... meeee?"

Paul smirked, "Because I can, Tony. Because I want to. Because seeing you reduced to my personal fucktoy and maid is the ultimate rush." He grabbed a handful of Tony's soft, doughy ass, squeezing roughly. "And this time, I'm not letting you leave. No college. No "besties". No breaking free of this new life. You belong to me now, understand? My full-time cumdump and house boy." With that, Paul shoved the headphones back into place, the hypnotic suggestions immediately flooding Tony's shattered mind once more. "Just relax and accept your new life. Serving me is all you'll be good for now."

Paul stroked his hardening cock as he watched Tony slip deeper into the trance, his eyes vacant and glassy, drool running down his chin. The sight of his former straight stud reduced to such a pathetic, brainless fucktoy never failed to arouse him. It was just like before. But this time? There would be no going back. Soon, Tony would be nothing more than a set of holes for Paul to use as he pleased, a living sex doll to fulfill his every fantasy. A live-in, slutty maid.

"I think he'll do nicely," he chuckled darkly to himself. "48 hours of reinforcement should really seal it. Then the real fun can begin." He palmed his stiffening erection, already imagining all the ways he would use his new toy. "Until then, I'll leave you to marinate."

Paul ascended the stairs and flicked off the light switch, plunging the basement into darkness, leaving his newest creation alone. And Tony remained slumped in the chair, a puddle of drool forming beneath his slack jaw. His glassy eyes stared at nothing as the words on the tape wormed their way deeper into his fractured psyche.

"Yesh… I'm P-Paul's… his per-perfect… per-perfect fuck-toy…"

His high, breathy voice echoed weakly in the dark room as he lost himself to the hypnotic haze, surrendering the last vestiges of his former self. His useless nub stiffening, his holes aching with need as he excitedly braced for the life he nearly escaped.

thanks

"Dad, I need you for something."

David sighed, "I'm a bit busy right now, I can..."

"Dad, c'mon it's real important." Noah whined.

The older man frowned. Usually when Noah was whining like this, it had something to do about his TikTok views or some stupid new trend.

"Let me guess, you saw something on TikTok..."

"Well yeah, but..."

"Wouldn't you rather be doing something else? Like going to the gym or getting involved in sports?" The lack of approval was evident in his voice, "I mean, all you do is scroll that stupid app. Hell, did you even shower today?" Noah sniffed his pits and grimaced.

"Seriously, you gotta chill." Noah grinned, "Please dad. C'mon, you're always complaining we don't hang."

"Alright, alright."

David relented- if this was how he would maintain a relationship with his son, then so be it. After all, being a single dad was tough. He didn't get to spend all too much time with his kid- he was mostly focused on working to ensure Noah had a good life. A life that seemed more and more consumed by that stupid app.

"Hear me out. I’m recording you." David already look skeptical, "Words will appear on screen, and if you use them right, you’re goated."

"Goated?"

Noah rolled his eyes, "Dad, just say ‘yeah’ and don’t overthink it, please- I’m begging."

"Okay…" David shrugged, giving in to his son's request. He stared at the camera, feeling awkward as Noah recorded. The words "Rizz", "No cap", and "Sus" appeared on the screen one by one.

David stumbled through the challenge, clearly uncomfortable. His delivery was stilted and self-conscious. The words used incorrectly. But he got through it, using each word to the best of his ability.

"That... that was painful." David laughed weakly.

"You're telling me." Noah cringed and paused the recording, "Percent Gen Z: 12%." Noah smiled, "Whoa, Dad! Pretty solid for your first try, no cap!" He winked.

David looked dubious, running a hand through his graying hair. "Not bad? That's awful. I feel ridiculous."

"No way, gotta lock in!" Noah encouraged, already hitting record again.

"Fine, fine. But this is the last one." David relented. For a split second, as he reached for the phone, he noticed his hands looked… different. His skin more youthful, a bit tanned actually. But before he could process it, the words appeared on screen.

"Bet", "Drip", "Bussin'".

David cleared his throat, "What does that even mean? Bussin'?" He chuckled awkwardly, "You're not going to post this, right?"

"Dad, focus!"

So David tried again- using each of the words. And as they left his mouth, David couldn't help but feel slightly more comfortable with them. Less awkward. When the percentage appeared, it was higher than before:

"Percent Gen Z: 28%." David whispered.

"AYOOO now we’re talking look at you—actually crushin' it!" Noah grinned.

"Yeah… I guess…" David felt weird, like something was very, very wrong, "I don't feel too good." Did he eat something that wasn't agreeing with him?

"You okay, pops?"

David placed a hand to his stomach and froze. His stomach, once soft and padded with middle-age spread, now felt firmer beneath his shirt. And there was a strange, ticklish, scratchy sensation across his chest, back, and stomach. Like he had just shaved. As if his once wiry body hair had vanished, replaced by the smooth, unblemished skin of a younger man. The shirt he wore suddenly felt scratchy and constrictive against his newly bare flesh.

David shook his head, shifting uncomfortably. "Alright, I should... I've got work to do…" His voice trailed off uncertainly.

Noah's grin widened, "C'mon, you're lowkey getting the hang of this. Please dad, this is fun."

David smiled slightly. He couldn't remember the last time Noah said anything with him was fun.

"Alright." He sighed, "Last one, no cap." Noah's eyes widened and he laughed, "What?"

"Nothing, dad."

David nodded and took a deep breath as the new words appeared on the screen: "Glow up", "Vibe check", "Ate".

He repeated the terms slowly, carefully enunciating each word. Again, each flowed seemingly more natural to him. Like he had heard and used these words before in an unironic way. The percentage popped up at a respectable 70%.

Noah whooped with joy. "Look at that, dad! Big W, you ate that!"

"Haha, yeah…" David's lips formed into a small grin, "I feel funny thought." His head tingled strangely and his tongue felt heavier in his mouth, "Like uh..."

"Come on, let's do one more! You're so close!" Noah urged.

"No, for real. I need to get back to…" David paused, frowning as he realized he couldn't remember what he needed to get back to. Work? Homework?

"What's that?" Noah asked curiously.

"I dunno, fam." David shrugged. He ran a hand over his clean-shaven chin and frowned, "This is sus because I definitely did not shave today." He frowned and sniffed at the air. "Noah, for real, you gotta shower, no cap. Your BO is rank, bruh."

Noah laughed, "Yo dad chill, that ain't my BO– that's yours, bro!"

David stared at his son in confusion, bringing his arm up to take a whiff of his own pit. He noticed the musky, thick pit fur creeping out from beneath his sleeve. Since when…? He recoiled at the powerful aroma wafting up.

"Bro, you good?" Noah smirked.

"I'm just…" David shook his head. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. Some felt like his, others felt foreign. Images flashed behind his eyes - scenes of him scrolling through TikTok for hours, obsessing over likes and comments. Doing stupid dances. Gooning for hours.

"Wanna give it one more shot, one last go? Promise this is the final round."

David nodded absentmindedly, "Sure thing, fam. Whatever you say."

Noah grinned and hit record. The words "Mood", "Snatched", "Locked In" appeared on the screen.

David stared blankly at the camera, his expression vacant. Then, almost mechanically, he began to speak. And as he spoke, his body began to shift and contort. The fat from years of stress, work, and age melted away, revealing the musculature underneath. David had once loved the gym- had really built himself a body he could be proud of in his 20s. But the muscles he was sporting now? Not the defined, chiseled physique of someone who worked out regularly, but the loose, undefined musculature of a lazy bro who occasionally hit the gym.

"Ahhhh fuckkkkkk..." David groaned.

He ran a hand through his hair, pausing mid-motion at the sensation of thickening, curlier hair. And it continued to change- his once salt-and-pepper locks shifted to become a thick curtain of blonde curls, falling messy and unkempt around his face.

"Bro, what's happenin' to me?" David's gruff voice took on a youthful, carefree tilt as he forced the words out.

"Don't worry about it, bro." Noah smiled, "You said you wanted to hang more, right? Bet- now we really about to, bro"

"Noah... not like..."

David moaned as his lower half stirred with a life of its own. An intense wave of arousal washed over him, his blood rushing southwards. David's breath increased, eyes glazing over as his pants tented obscenely- his body surging with hormones. Pre-cum leaked through the fabric, staining it.

"Almost there!" Noah sounded giddy, "Knew I should've hopped on this trend way earlier."

But David didn't hear him in the midst of his mind falling apart. His thoughts, once grounded in responsibility and parenthood, became consumed by a singular obsession: himself. What angle would make for the best selfie? Which dance move would impress his viewers? How could he make his videos go viral? Should he start an OnlyFans? Before long, there wasn't a single remnant of the middle-aged father remaining- just another 19-year old, basking in social media validation and more importantly, himself.

“Lowkey fire, bro,” he murmured, yanking off his shirt.

Blond hair fell into his eyes; he pushed it back with a lazy swipe, cocky grin spreading across his face. He stared at his phone, adjusting angles, changing filters.

"Finally, we can chill like bros.” Noah said, grinning.

David didn’t look up. “Nah, bro. Can’t..."

"What?"

"Can't waste this, bro. Gotta blow up, you feel?"

Noah froze, chest tightening. “Wait…so you’re not even…?”

David smirked, “Bro, I’m living my best life. Chill.” He continued to stare at his phone, not even glancing up at his son.

"Dad?" Noah knew about this trend- knew that this would be the end result. Yet seeing his father like this- seeing the consequences in person- made him second guess all of it, "For real, dad..."

"Who you calling dad, fam?" David glanced up, taking stock of Noah's horrified expression, "Lowkey relax, bro. I'll send you some free merch when I blow up, no cap."